


Lie to You

by Lightspeed, your_bro_joe



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Break Up, Chains, Cheating, Crying, Cuckolding, Double Agents, Exhibitionism, Eye Contact, Forced to Watch, Heartbreak, Imprisonment, Loud Sex, M/M, Making Out, Mirror Sex, Nonconsensual Exhibition, Oral Sex, Rimming, Secrets, Table Sex, Two-Way Mirror, Undercover, Voyeurism, shackles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3835009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_bro_joe/pseuds/your_bro_joe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up alone, battered, and imprisoned, the RED Heavy doesn’t think things can get much worse.  That is, until his captors induce a very specific, very devastating form of psychological torture: Heartbreak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lie to You

Mikhail awoke to darkness. His eyes blinked blindly, and the left one felt thick and sluggish, a dull, throbbing pain ebbing out around it with every beat of his heart. It was probably swollen and blackened, mirroring a rather sharp agony rising in his jaw, where he was sure it wasn't fractured, but he couldn't be sure of the same for the teeth rooted in it. He was sure his nose had been broken, but judging from the fact that he could breathe through it, tender as it was, it had most likely been set back in place. How polite. Whether it would heal properly, or even have time to do so, the giant was uncertain.

He was uncertain of many things. Mostly, where he was and how he'd gotten there. Kneeling in the darkness, his hands were bound together in manacles, his ankles fettered. Chains ran from both sets of shackles to the floor behind him, holding him in place. A collar around his neck was similarly restraining him, another chain leading straight down to a connection point bolted into the concrete, keeping him from shifting or standing. The metal was thick and weighty, and several attempts at ripping himself free proved futile.

Mikhail slouched in place, listening to his surroundings, trying to get any bearing, trying to remember how he'd arrived there. The last thing he'd remembered was a stinging feeling in his neck, followed by two more sharp pains. Then Scout had screamed, and the ground had rushed up at him as darkness swallowed him. They must have been ambushed, but by whom, the Russian could not be sure. Only that they had come prepared if they had been able to take him down with mere tranquilizers. The drugs must have been potent.

He'd likely been roughed up after he'd been taken into custody, and judging by how awful he felt, whomever had done the honours had a particular dislike of his face. A soft smile rose to his sore, split lips as he thought of Medic. Should he escape, Mikhail hoped the doctor would still find him handsome. He'd always spoken so highly of his cheekbones and proud nose, after all.

Movement nearby, the sound of footsteps echoing against concrete and muffled by intervening walls, drew Mikhail from his thoughts. He stilled his breathing, and realized how shaky it had been once he was forced to hold onto it.

Voices hummed, bass thrumming through the wall indistinctly. There were two men, conversing, one with a markedly lower voice than the other. There must have been a hall outside, from the way the echoes and muffled noises carried. A sound like a door opening nearby followed. Then there was a light.

Mikhail squinted, blinking, shying away from the brightness before him. A rectangle of light filled his vision, set in the wall in front of him, a window into another room that had just been lit up. The room was large-ish, and its walls were lined with soundproofing foam. A few stray filing cabinets sat in one corner, and a large, metal table sat at the center of the room for interrogations. A trio of chairs were haphazardly pushed away from it. The giant watched through aching eyes, one swollen half-shut as a figure moved within, stepping through the door. He was massive in frame, with short, grey hair under a navy bandana and muttonchops. He wore goggles, and had scars on his sharply-featured face. He was older, but had the bearing and presence of a man for whom age did not equal weakness. His arms were bare, and thick, as was his whole body, a defined mountain of muscle that Mikhail found both fearsome and impressive. Looking at the size of his hands, he was likely the one who had taken liberties on his unconscious form.

Bastard hadn't even given him a chance for a proper fight. He looked strong, but muscle could not hide cowardice.

Mikhail recognized the man from photographs. He was part of the previous team before they had been dismissed; the man whose position he had filled. He was The Heavy before the Russian had even known the title. Before it had become his identity. Before it had become his name, whispered lovingly by Medic between soft kisses and warm touches in the darkness of their bed.

The man, the older Heavy, dressed in blue and grinning wolfishly, chatted with another man who stood out in the hallway. He leaned against the doorframe, practically purring with his gravelly voice, "Just a quickie, sweetheart. We don't have to be anywhere for at least an hour. Plenty of time to clean up afterward. I just need a piece of you, right now."

"You're so impatient," the other man replied with a huff, and Mikhail's ears rang with the familiarity of its tones, its accent.

"No," he whispered, unbelieving. He'd known Medic had taken some high-priority job when the team had gone their different ways, but it couldn't be. Not this.

"I can't help myself, you're too sexy. With your jackboots around those perfect legs and ankles, and the way your coat hugs your ass when you bend over, I just wanna yank it up and nail you to the wall," the Heavy growled, leading his lover into the room.

No. No, no, no. Mikhail's eyes watered. No.

Medic looked about the room with curiosity. He remembered subjecting to questioning upon being hired here, and at the time it hadn't seemed like a good place for a mid-shift hook-up. Now, however? "A mirror. Very good choice."

"Thought you'd like it," Heavy grinned, shutting the door behind them and locking it.

"I do," Medic purred, wrapping his arms around his lover the moment he turned around, pressing him against the door as their lips collided.

Mikhail’s vision blurred as he watched the pair embrace, passion evident in the way Medic gripped Heavy’s shoulders and the way Heavy squeezed Medic’s ass. A deep, rumbling laugh worked its way through the Classic’s chest and spilled over as he bent to kiss Medic’s neck, and the German moaned, tilting his head back and catching his reflection in the mirror. He saw the flush on his cheeks, creeping further down; the light tousle to his hair; how his glasses had become crooked. He smiled.

“Oh, mein Heavy,” he sighed, and locked eyes with the man he used to call that name, on the other side of the mirror.

Mikhail’s heart stopped momentarily. Did Medic know he was there? Was this all a trick? Or was this psychological torture--did Medic never truly care for him, and everything they had was just part of a long con? He swallowed, and nearly choked. Medic looked away.

“Love it when you call me that, baby,” Heavy grinned, nipping at Medic’s collarbone. The German chuckled, and brought him up for a kiss, pushing Heavy’s bandana off in the process.

“Mein Heavy,” he repeated, looking solely at the older mercenary this time, “mein liebling Heavy.”

“Damn,” Heavy sighed, fingering Medic’s tie, “you know what that does to me, sexy. Talk German to me.”

Medic laughed, high and mirthful, and Mikhail’s stomach sank. This was a game they’d played before; enough times that he knew exactly what his former lover would say:

"Mein unwiderstehlicher, großer, starker Mann. Ich will dich. Ich brauche dich. Bitte, gib mir alles was du hast.”

When the Classic mercenary began undressing Medic with fervor, Mikhail knew he’d heard the phrase before as well. Perhaps many times. As many times as Mikhail himself had heard it. He breathed heavily through his nostrils, trying to contain himself, trying to tune it out when Medic began to moan wantonly. Did they want a reaction from him? He was determined now not to give it to them.

Heavy was just as determined to give it to Medic. Once he had the doctor nude, uniform shucked haphazardly as they moved to the interrogation table, he had his mouth on the younger, slimmer man. Arching back in his strong arms, Medic crooned, Heavy’s teeth worrying at his neck and leaving marks of ownership. Large hands ran over his skin, groping hungrily at the doctor, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

“Oh, Gott, ja, ja!” the German moaned, excited and eager, his hips lifting into Heavy’s touch each time his hand traced the lean muscle of his thighs. “Bitte!”

“Since you asked so nice,” Heavy growled, lifting Medic up and sitting him on the cold table, chuckling a bit at his soft yelp in response. He fell to his knees, petting at the younger man’s legs, and nosed in at the crux where his leg met his hip. “Lay back,” he urged, punctuating the order with a curving lick at the base of his lover’s cock.

“As you wish,” Medic replied, laying back, his warm flesh on the cool metal table. When the larger man’s mouth wrapped around his length, hot tongue cupping the underside of his cock and beginning to rub eagerly at his sensitive spots, Medic fairly howled. One hand came down to urge him on, the other finding its way to his own forehead, fingers threading into his hair. He arched into that wet mouth, those warm lips, and willed himself to open his eyes.

He inspected his reflection in the mirror, flushed, gasping, the lithe shape of his body squirming atop the table as Heavy sucked at his cock. He swallowed hard, and kept his eyes on the image, watching every tremble, every shudder that rocked his body as pleasure washed through him at the bidding of his lover’s wonderful mouth. Medic had never been known for modesty, but there was just something so curious, so utterly erotic about watching himself in ecstasy, being pleasured. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

Mikhail grimaced, looking utterly ferocious in response to Medic's obvious goading. How dare he. How dare he do this to him! His chains rattled as he shifted under that half-lidded gaze, furious and heartbroken at the intimate betrayal playing out before him.

Medic, meanwhile, completely oblivious to the other's torment, thoroughly enjoyed himself. Heavy's wonderful tongue licked along the sides of his cock, and down into the creases of skin between his thighs. After a tongue-bath to his taint, Heavy moved down to his pert hole and prodded at it, his fingers digging into Medic's legs and spreading them further.

At that, Medic nearly keened, his ecstatic vocalizations carrying over the intercom into the next room and burning into Mikhail's ears. The doctor seemed to watch him as he scowled, and a pleased smile stretched slowly across his lips as he sighed out, "Oh, Heavy."

"Yes, darlin'," came the husky reply, and Medic lifted his head to look down at the older man.

"Fill me with that hot tongue of yours," he whined, lifting his hips, and Heavy chuckled.

"So impatient," he chided again, "but so goddamn hot."

Medic flopped back down, licking his lips and watching himself do so. When that tongue returned, pushing against his hole, poking its way slowly inwards, the doctor bowed up off the table, a desperate yowl forced out of him, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to keep from blinking as he watched his red face contort.

Heavy pushed Medic’s cheeks apart, thumbs pulling at his hole, tugging the skin taut, urging it open around his tongue as he pressed inside, his own knuckles digging into his cheekbones. Medic was tighter than he had any right to be, squeezing at his tongue and making his jaw ache. He traced circles around that puckered flesh and poked again, the younger man’s noisy whines urging him onward. Medic gave more readily with each return, and he soon relaxed into the treatment, letting Heavy press his lips to heated skin and drive into the doctor’s body with his wet, limber organ.

Mikhail grit his teeth, his jaw set to hurting, his hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles ached. How could he do this to him? How dare he? How dare _they_? Tormenting him, putting on this show of mocking everything he and Medic had. Everything he had thought they’d had.

Had any of it been real? Had the whispered words of adoration, the romance, the lovemaking, the talk of a future together; had all of it been an act? Had it been some game, or some gambit all along? Or was this just Medic’s way? And now he had a different plaything.

Medic gripped the edges of the table, his arms spread out on either side of him, muscle bulging under pale flesh as those strong hands took hold. He panted, witless, Heavy’s tongue wriggling inside of him, licking him intimately. He tried not to clench around the slick heat, to relax and allow him unfettered access, but his whole body tensed with every blissful flick, every shivery slurp. Those thumbs pushed into him, filling him only to spread him further, to open his hole and hold him open to allow Heavy deeper, flattening his nose against the doctor’s taint.

Nearly sobbing as sparks danced behind his eyelids with every fluttering blink, Medic fought to hold still enough for Heavy to work. His legs were stock stiff in the air, toes spread and flexing, his cock growing purple at its head. He refused to touch himself, staring at his tense, trembling body, at his lust-hazed eyes, and unknowingly, into the very soul of the rapidly unravelling Mikhail.

He was so beautiful. He was always so beautiful. In the throes of pleasure he was like an incubus, physically composed of pure, undiluted ardor. He oozed sex from every pore, and his voice, clear as a bell, rang out in exaltation of his lust.

Mikhail hated him. Mikhail loved him. He shook, his breath coming in stutters, and his face grew hot. He would not cry. _He would not cry_. He would not mourn the loss of this man he’d dedicated every fibre of his being to loving. This man who was his sun, his moon, his entire world. After all, how could he mourn that which he may not have ever had?

He was unsure which was worse: that Medic had never loved him, or that he _had_ , and no longer did.

Out of desperation, Mikhail shut his eyes, and turned his head. Bound as he was, though, he was unable to cover his ears, and block the sounds of Medic’s wanton moans and lurid requests.

“Mein liebe,” the German ground out, shifting his hips and causing his older lover to raise his head, “I am ready for you.” Heavy’s thumbs rubbed circles beside his stretched asshole as he waited for Medic to voice his request. “Fuck me.”

Heavy grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

From a pocket of his coveralls, Heavy produced a small tube of lubricant. Medic would’ve laughed at him, and in fact had in the past, but he couldn’t argue then nor now that he wasn’t insatiable, and it was wise to be prepared. The fact that the tube was nearly empty was proof enough of that.

Heavy shucked his coveralls down to his thighs, and pulled his tank over his head, exposing a broad chest covered in gray curls that led in a thin line down to his navel, and spread out again near the base of his sizable cock. Medic licked his lips at the sight, hitching his legs a little higher, and resting his heels on the curve of Heavy’s buttocks.

Heavy watched the flutter of Medic’s muscles as he slicked his erection, mentally preparing himself for the pleasure that was to come. The doctor looked up at him with such adoration it was hard not to feel cocky and proud, and it showed on his face when he put the tip of his cock against Medic’s tight hole, and a smirk spread across his lips when Medic gasped. He pushed in, and the deep, prolonged moan he received in response caused him to chuckle in triumph, leaning down to claim the younger man’s lips like a prize.

Tongues tangled between them, and Medic whimpered at the taste of himself in the other’s mouth. He would’ve fretted about bacteria if not for the automatic healing he’d installed in himself and his new teammates. Instead, he wrapped his arms around his older lover, running his fingers through untamed silver hair.

“Mein Heavy,” he breathed when they broke apart, “look.” Gently, Medic turned the other man’s head, to watch their reflections in the mirror. Heavy snapped his hips automatically, and took in the shudder that ran through Medic’s body. Like this, he could see everything: himself inside the smaller man, the sweat forming on their bodies, and how tightly they fit together, almost made for each other. He shivered. “Look at you fucking me.”

Heavy did look, a wicked grin crossing his scarred lips as he bucked into Medic, watching muscle move beneath flesh, hair matting against tacky skin, and his own massive form dominating the smaller, slimmer man’s. He watched as Medic’s wide-mouthed panting was interrupted by the grit of teeth when he struck the doctor just right inside, as his hands grasped at his shoulders, at the table, at his mussed hair, at anything in the throes of his undoing. He watched himself, triumphant, and knowing that on the other side of that mirror, his title’s successor watched, too.

The paunchy Russian may have had his job, but Heavy had a far more satisfying prize. With each thrust deep into Medic’s ass, each cry of pleasure from the doctor, he proved that, taking what was his. He grunted with the effort of increasing his pace, rocking the table as he began hammering into the wailing German. “So fuckin’ gorgeous,” he growled, licking his lips as he watched his hips slap against Medic’s ass, relishing the sound it made. “Come on, Doc. Tell me how much you like it. Tell me how good you feel.”

“Oh, Gott, it feels so—you are so—ohhh Gott, Heavy,” Medic babbled, barely open eyes glued to his own reflection, watching himself being fucked ruthlessly, his gaze locked on the sight of his lover’s cock disappearing into his eager ass. The stretch was amazing, each invasion opening him wide, filling him so deeply, hammering at his prostate with pinpoint accuracy. How on Earth was he supposed to form words when the sense was being driven from his skull with each ingress of that huge cock?

“Come on, I wanna hear it,” Heavy urged, one large hand coming up to grip Medic’s neck loosely, holding him down on the table and reminding him exactly how much power he had. He railed into the doctor’s ass with ferocity, his teeth grit in a terrifying grin.

It sent a bolt straight to Medic’s balls, and the barest pressure on his throat made his breath hitch in response. “You’re amazing,” the doctor whimpered. “I’m so full, it feels so _good_.”

“Tell me you love this.” Heavy’s grip tightened just enough to slow Medic’s breath.

“Oh _Gott,_ I love this! I—I love you!” Medic keened, arching up against the older man, his voice melting into a howl as he came all over his and Heavy’s bellies, tight, strained paroxysms rolling through him.

_I love you._

In spite of himself, Mikhail's eyes had returned to the men rutting on the table. To the love of his life, his most trusted companion, to Medic, being fucked by the enemy, showing this craggy monster the tenderness and trust he had thought was only his own. Tears came uncontrolled, uncontained, streaming down his face with no sobs to accompany them. He barely breathed, staring, disbelieving, an empty vessel of blood and bone with nothing left where a heart once beat.

_I love you_.

Medic had given him that heart. He had destroyed the original. He had destroyed this one, too.

_I love you._

Mikhail's roar was accompanied by a much more contained one from Heavy, who bucked into Medic and came deep inside of him, filling him with his seed, grinning with satisfaction as he heard the younger heavy weapons specialist break from behind the glass. He stalled atop Medic, whose eyes went wide at the sound.

“Was ist?”

Every one of Heavy’s teeth was visible as he stood, limp cock sliding out of Medic’s hole as he stepped away. The doctor’s gaze, formerly fixed on the mirror, locked instead on his older lover, watching as he pulled up his clothes and refastened the straps, then put one gloved hand on the switches he’d flicked when they’d entered the room. “Got a surprise for ya, sweetheart,” he drawled, and with a click, the lights in the room went out, and the mirror Medic had been so enraptured with became a window.

A man kneeled before him, blinking heavily in the newly-lit room, bound about the neck, arms and legs with iron chains. Medic immediately covered himself, shame burning through him at the thought of being watched, but then he realized who the man was, and saw the reddened paths that tears had carved in his face, and he felt sick.

Mikhail, meanwhile, was temporarily blinded by the sudden light in the room. It took him several seconds to regain his bearings, and when he did, he realized the window before him had turned into a mirror. Medic was no longer looking at him. Instead, the image of a broken man greeted him, hunched and red-eyed and crushed. The sight only upset him further. He was stronger than this! What did he care if that harlot loved him or not? He didn’t need Medic’s love, or his pity. He squared his shoulders, sitting up defiantly, staring himself in the face until he couldn’t bear it any longer, and slumped forward again.

Medic sat, frozen, on the table, arms wrapped around himself and legs crossed in a display of modesty, but in the back of his mind, he knew it wasn’t necessary: Mikhail had seen him naked more times than he could count. Mikhail had held him in the same position Heavy had only moments ago. Mikhail had filled him as intimately as he was filled now, and he was suddenly acutely aware of how empty he felt as Heavy’s cum slid out of him. He shut his eyes, unable to look his betrayal in the face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said levelly, trying not to betray the storm of emotions brewing within himself. He could cover it up with embarrassment at having been watched, rather than furor at whom Heavy had chosen for their audience. He had never wanted his Mikhail to see this. He had never wanted him to know the lengths he’d gone to for this mission. He turned his icy, blue eyes on the grinning, older mercenary.

“You really think you’d’ve made all those gorgeous sounds if you knew you had an audience?” Heavy asked, looking his scandalized lover up and down. “You think you’d’ve tarted it up like you do, watching yourself get fucked, if you knew he was there?”

“But _why_?”

“Maybe a little bit of bragging?” The older man chuckled darkly, running a finger under Medic’s chin. “I wanted him to watch me take you. Make him suffer a little, having to watch me fuck his ex-boyfriend. I’ve got you because he was stupid enough to give you up. And now you’re with me, working with us. What better way to claim victory over the prick who took my job than to fuck his ex, his team’s traitor, right in front of his eyes?"

Traitor. The word cut deeper than it should. It was the role Medic played, the turncoat, mercenary above all else, working for whoever would pay. But now, it wasn’t a role anymore. He’d betrayed his Misha, his cuddly bear, whose beautiful blue eyes were full of tears, whose handsome face was marred with an agonized grimace of utter heartbreak.

And he couldn’t do anything about it. He had to maintain his cover above all else, or they were all doomed.

Medic swallowed hard, bile threatening to rise in his throat. He could retch and cry when he was alone, later. Now, he needed to channel the other overwhelming emotion boiling within him.

He slapped Heavy’s hand aside. “Was the HELL is wrong with you?!” Medic demanded, furious. “How _dare_ you!” He stood, forcing Heavy to step back, and drew himself to his full height, squaring his shoulders. Nudity be damned, he made himself as imposing as possible in the face of the larger man. “Is that all I am to you? Some trophy to be paraded around and shown off as your latest sexual conquest? I am no show pony, and I will not be treated as such!"

Heavy’s eyes widened, taken aback by the fury he’d roused in his lover. He’d expected embarrassment, perhaps a bit of annoyance, but not this. He’d figured it would be yet another victory for the proud German. “Baby, I—”

“Don’t you Baby me!” the doctor demanded, fuming. He stepped past the older man, snatching his clothes from the floor as he did. “I am a man. I am a doctor. I am a mercenary. And I am your lover. I demand to be treated as all of these, do you understand? You do _not_ surprise a lover with something like—” he gestured at the window, refusing to look upon Mikhail’s visage, for fear of losing the wind from his sails and his voice cracking around tears, “this disrespect!”

“Doc, I didn’t think—”

“Nein!” Medic interrupted, wrapping his coat around his waist, his modesty less important than a quick egress. “You _didn’t_ think! You massive, horny, manchild! He left me, you Dummkopf! You really thought that what I wanted was for him to watch us fuck? You really thought what I wanted was to see my ex, let alone post-coitus?” He stepped to the door, unlocking it. “I do not want to see you for the rest of the night. We will talk about this tomorrow. Guten Nacht.” With that, he swung the door open, stepped out, and slammed it behind him, his feet slapping on the floor as he retreated in a huff.

Heavy stood in silence for a few moments, letting the other man gain some distance. Before he left, though, he spared Mikhail one last look, disgust curling his scarred lip. That son of a bitch had taken enough from him; he wouldn't let him take this too.

 

* * *

 

Mikhail waited in the dark, chained, cold, and hungry, for whatever Gray's mercenaries might have planned next for him. More beatings? Or perhaps more psychological torture? What could be worse than what he'd witnessed on the other side of that mirror, though, he wasn't sure. A flicker of fear surged through him when he thought of what would happen if they got hold of his family, but he comforted himself with the fact that every woman he loved was more than capable of taking care of herself.

After hours of this mental struggle, his tiredness only strengthening his nervous thoughts, his waiting ended. A click of the door handle and a sliver of light signaled the entrance of another person to the room, and Mikhail braced himself for a blow. Instead, the door closed quietly, and the sound of boots clacking across the floor approached him, almost timidly. He recognized that gait, and braced himself for an entirely different reason.

Medic kneeled beside him, and set something on the floor. It took Mikhail a moment to realize it was a bucket, and then he felt a warm cloth on his face, cleaning the blood from his split lip and soothing his black eye. He remained as impassive as he could, until the cloth passed over his cheeks, wiping away the salty trails of his tears. That nearly set him off, but instead he jerked his head away.

Medic set the cloth down, then, and touched Mikhail's face with a gloved hand. The Russian frowned at how comforting the rubber felt against his skin, and hung his head, defeated.

"Misha," Medic whispered, and Mikhail tensed, furrowing his brow. With one finger, Medic lifted his chin, and kissed him.

Mikhail pulled away quickly enough to rattle his chains, and Medic let go. He had been too bold. He deserved that.

"No!" Mikhail bit, "these lips, this heart: they are no longer yours. No longer spare parts for you to play with!"

And maybe he deserved that too. But it was all too much, a painful end to an exhausting day, and raw emotions came bubbling forth as he dug his fingers into his thighs.

"And what was I to you, then?" he started, voice already thick with unshed tears, "what was I that you could walk away so easily? Abandon me for a frozen wasteland?"

Mikhail let out a shuddering sigh. "That is not fair, Doctor."

"'Fair'? 'Fair'! I will tell you what isn't fair!" Medic cried out, and then suddenly he was very close to Mikhail's ear. " _That I must lie to you like this_ ," he whispered, speaking Yiddish, their other shared language.

For the first time since he'd entered the room, Mikhail looked at him, eyes wide and mouth open in an unasked question.

" _They are listening. I must be brief. Pretend I have insulted you when I leave, but know that I love you always._ " He spoke rapidly, and stood, picking up the bucket with furious motions. " _My cuddly bear._ "

With one last glance over the rims of his glasses, he turned on his heel and left the small room, slamming the door behind him.

Mikhail merely slumped forward again, eyes closed and posture defeated. To the empty darkness, he answered, " _my dove."_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to sinuswave for German translation, and to jealousyblood for the idea of TFC Heavy using Medic to torment chained Heavy.


End file.
